Letters to the Void

I find myself less inclined to write about my feelings these days. Funny how that works: the things for which I've been pining get shuffled back into my life and my response is to shut down the transmitter and retreat to the most furtive and dark basements to mull over events there.

Anyway, I couldn't grasp these feelings even if I wanted to; they're slippery little fishies, a flash of glittering silver scales in the sun. Running with that metaphor, here's one that leaped clean out of the water and into the boat. It flopped around for a moment then just lay there, mouth gasping for air, bug-eyed and alien. What the hell am I looking at here?

This one walked right off the paper. Couldn't stop it if I wanted to; a creeping construct of literary refuse. Thankfully I have friends who are more than willing to dispatch these idle notions before they can do damage. I watched in maddened glee as they were struck down, one after another, burned by fire, hacked apart by a variety of cutting implements, and refuted by clever puns.


here comes the three-hole-punch!